


Bones for the Blood Moon

by Sashaya



Series: Wolf in sheep's clothing [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Gen, Gore, Killer Jake Park, Killer!Jake, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 12:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12681456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashaya/pseuds/Sashaya
Summary: The hunt is long, too long, frustrating. It's a stain on his pride and he will not stop, until he ereases it from existence.The prey at the end will be the sweetest.





	Bones for the Blood Moon

**Author's Note:**

> **_Disclaimer:_** _I don't own any of the characters._
> 
> Warning: Un-beta'ed work. If I made mistakes that you just have to tell me about, pop in at [SharkTofu](http://sharktofu.tumblr.com).

The whispers grow stronger with every step, coiling and writhing like a pit of venomous snakes, ready and eager to attack. The hunt has been going for a long time, longer than he’s comfortable to admit. It seems like a stain on his honor, on his pride as someone reliable and serious about his job. 

He feels like a disgrace. 

He has been looking for the man for so long, he’s ready to howl in frustration. 

The tales, stories told in halted whispers and angry growls, in the darkness and emptiness, they told about the petite, black woman. She’s the one to watch out. She’s the one to be a problem. 

_You will walk by her and she will laugh, she will dance in the too bright moonlight, like she’s the one chosen by the forgotten gods. Like she’s the victor, the new hope for the lost and hopeless._

This time, this hunt, he’s been lucky. She was quick on her feet, light and wary, but unlucky, so unlucky tonight. She was betrayed by the littlest things – his loyal, black-winged friends, who called and called, humbly showing him, where her little footsteps lead. She was terrified and careful, smart, but the Entity never gave her any favors. 

The hook pierced her shoulder, painting the ground with blood and pulling from her chest a scream full of agony. She begged, cried and pleaded for salvation, for an end. 

He’s never been merciful, but he is fair. 

He left her there – crying and screaming, and spitting blood. Her agony tasted sweet and clung to him like a warm coat. 

No-one came for her.

He wished he could kill her again. 

The next survivors didn’t have the woman’s skill, but they also weren’t dealt such an unlucky hand. They were clumsy and scared, with unsteady and trembling with fear hands, trying to power up their only way out. 

He fed their hope – pretended not to notice the many footprints on the ground; let them finish two generators as they fumbled around. The Entity whispered loud and pleased as he crushed their hope with a single wave of kusarigama, the chain whistling in the air and striking with deadly precision. 

Their screams of _No, no! I was so close! Please!_ made his mouth stretch in a feral smile – not human enough, but hidden from the survivors eyes with a wolf-mask, almost as terrifying as his own face. 

He had no mercy for them, painted his teeth with their blood and swallowed the last of their broken wishes. He can’t remember a better meal. 

This feeling of hurried hope, hopeless belief that there’s no other way – that the alternative isn’t any better, that the failure doesn’t mean peace, but an eternity of repeating mistakes; it all seems so familiar, like a nightmare he could never shake off. 

The last man is good, smart, careful, annoying. He dodges Jake’s blows, stays clear of his path, calms down the restless cawing of the crows. It’s frustrating, makes Jake bail his hands into fits, too long fingernails piercing the scarred skin of his palms and drawing blood. 

The complete silence, not a step out of order, drives him crazy. It tears out an inhuman snarl from his hoarse throat, scaring the crows perched on the nearby stone.

The smell is sudden and barely-there, beautiful, perfect. Close. 

His human nose twitches, scents the air for the wonderfully metallic fragrance, and follows the puddles of blood, quickly soaked by the parched ground. 

The whispers, calm and quiet as a cold disapproval of a distant father, awaken and growls louder and louder, until there’s nothing else, until he can’t hear nothing more. 

They almost sound human, he can almost hear words – chopped and unused, and childlike, needy. Demanding.

_Give us._

_He’s ours._

_Give him back._

Jake’s growl, that fills the dark clearing in the Huntress’ domain, is low and dangerous. And so hungry. 

_No_ , he snarls, defiant and triumphant. The howl that escapes him is almost deafening. _No. This one is mine_.

He deserves this kill. 

The man in the green jacket is a veteran, a survivor with a leftover hope well-hidden in the depth of his pockets. He’s biting his lip so hard, there’s a cascade of blood falling down his chin. He’s trying and failing to say quiet. He’s trying not to make a sound, to quiet his own cries of pain, agony. 

There’s a strange certainty in Jake’s chest that if the man found a knife, he would cut his own tongue, if it meant surviving. It’s almost worth admiring, worth letting go. 

Almost.

There’s a deep gash in his left side, where the sickle of the kusarigama connected earlier. The man’s right hand – tightly pressed to the wound – is already painted red with blood, and it keeps flowing, keeping chipping away at the life still left in the man. The air around him smells sweet, coppery. Inviting. 

Jake can’t wait.

There’s a split second of an impatient uncertainty and the kusarigama’s iron ball connects swiftly with the man’s back, breaking bones with an audible crack. He screams. Terrifyingly loud in the silent forest. Though, he lays on the ground bleeding, his cries aren’t of pain. There’s a bit of panic in his voice and anger. An ocean of anger, like he was hoping to survive, and Jake took it away from him. Like there was hope.

The hopelessness tastes almost like blood. 

It’s delicious. 

The man starts to crawl, slow, but determined in a cold and calculated way. Jake almost feels his determination on his tongue. He can feel his slowly raising panic – _there’s no time for mistakes, he can do that, he has to_.

Jake watches him and all he sees is a dead man, who just hasn’t realize he is dead. His body is moving out of sheer stubbornness, towards the hope-inducing, open hatch. 

Jake smiles under the wolf-mask.

There’s no hope tonight. 

He’s in no hurry as he follows the trail of blood, even though, the whispers scream at him to catch, to sacrifice, to not let this man go. There is no reason to move faster – the man will die under the moon, under the many trees. 

He can feel the Blood Moon raise. 

The man is maybe 40 inches away from the hatch, when he’s bathed in the blood-red light. He doesn’t falter in his way, but Jake is already too close.

He reaches for the man and lifts him from the ground. His fingers are tightly clenched around the man’s throat, and he squeezes slowly. The man claws at him, scratches at his arm, desperately fighting for his life, his feet dangling 20 inches above the ground. It’s so easy to lift him up, like this man weights no more than the air in his lungs, like the kusarigama in Jake’s hand is heavier than the life in his fist.

Fear grows in the man’s dark eyes – eyes that seem so familiar, but Jake doesn’t let his mind wander, the intrusive thoughts are pushed away by the ever present dark whispers. His fear tastes like a delicacy, like a well-made steak beaded with rich, honey-like hopelessness. 

Jake can’t wait to sink his teeth. 

He loosens his grip on the man’s throat, gives him a chance to take a deep breath. His last one. The kusarigama shines for a split second in the Blood Moon and sinks into the man’s side. Deep and deep, and deeper.

He’s screaming.

The sickle faces no resistance, easily tearing the flesh under the blade. It gets stuck on one of the man’s ribs, but Jake simply adds more strength and smiles. The ribs break. One by one. 

The man stops screaming. 

Jake reaches inside the gash, the warm blood on his skin feels cathartic. He curls his fist around the somehow still beating heart and pulls, with all his might.

The heart is beautiful in his hand, cleansed in blood and the Moon’s light.

He keeps it.

The body hits the ground with a dull sound, just an empty container with no meaning. 

Jake has already forgotten about it. 

He feels a howl build up inside, a bloodcurdling sound tearing from his chest like it’s not his, like he’s just a mean to an end. The crows around him frighten and take flight, disturbing the sudden silence of the woods. The quickly fluttering wings sound ominous, carrying Jake’s howl with them farther and farther away – to the clearing, where he knows the new survivors await their fate. 

It’s a warning for them. A promise.

_Soon._

**Author's Note:**

> I thrive on comments more than anything. Please leave a review on your way out!


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